"I thought you had decided to stay. You've only been here for a few weeks." Morgana closed her chamber door behind herself and leaned against it, as though that would keep Accolon from leaving her again.

Accolon sighed and bowed his head, but the tense set of his shoulders told her it wasn't from regret. He tugged at his swordbelt to ensure it was solidly buckled, then turned to face her. "I received a message from my father this morning. He wants me back home to start planning this spring's campaigns against Camelot."

"And did the messenger nip at your heels all the way from Rheged?" Morgana asked. "He must have, as quickly as he arrived. Is the Isle of the Blessed not as comfortable as you're used to? Or do you find the beds of dim-witted serving girls to be more comfortable than mine?"

"This isn't about us, Morgana!" His hand tightened on the hilt of his sword, and for a moment Morgana thought he might draw it. Then he took a deep breath and his arm fell to his side. "I rode for days through snow and icy mountain passes to be with you. Would I have done all that if I didn't want to be here? I don't like the timing of it, either, but it's not my choice. My father is negotiating a marriage contract for my brother as well as the campaign against Camelot. He wants both of his sons with him, and I can't very well deny him without losing my position."

Morgana kept her expression neutral. "Who's the lucky woman?"

"A Saxon princess. I'm not sure of her name."

"A Saxon?!" She practically flew across the distance between them and glared up at him. "We have been fighting to keep the Saxons out of our lands for nearly a century, Accolon, and now your family wants to invite them in? What does your father think he's playing at? The Saxons don't want a marriage contract. They only want two things: our land and our blood. And your father would just hand both of those to them? What sort of fool is he?"

Accolon grabbed her shoulders and shoved her back a step. "My father is no fool, Morgana. Open your eyes! There is a big world out there beyond our little islands, and if we sit here pretending it doesn't exist, that world will wash over us like we were ants in a flood. Why do you think the Saxons keep coming, year after year? It's because there's someone out there who frightens them. The Saxons, who we fear because of their cruelty, are afraid of someone else out there. What do you think that means for us?"

Morgana couldn't answer that. She had Seen such an invasion in her visions and, along with Merlin, had formed a prophecy that demanded that old powers unite, and intimated that strange alliances would be formed. "I am not blind," she said at last. "I See more than you know."

"Yes, and you know I'm right. But if we ally ourselves with the Saxons, then Rheged might have a chance to stop what's coming."

She clenched her jaw and looked away.

"What are your plans, then? I noticed right away that instead of planning your next move against your brother, you've been playing house with a flock of peasants."

"They're no peasants," Morgana said, the rising up in her voice. "They're my kind. My people. I summoned them here so we might rebuild the Isle of the Blessed."

"And how will they help you re-take your throne? Are they going to farm Arthur's army to death? Build you a nice little road to take you there?" He let go of her and stalked a few paces away. "It makes me wonder if you've lost interest in the throne of Camelot altogether. After everything you've tried and all the plans you put in motion, Arthur is still king and you're the mistress of a stone ruin."

Morgana refused to respond. No matter what her answer was, it would only solidify his opinion of the matter. She was beginning to lose her taste for war, after all. One could only fail so many times before it grew difficult to summon the energy and will to carry on. Especially when the people looked to her to defend them…

"I'm not wrong, am I?" Accolon pursed his lips. "Perhaps it would be better for us to spend the rest of the winter apart. I can see to my duties in Rheged, and you can figure out what it is you really want from this place, and for the two of us."

Morgana clenched her jaw. "Perhaps that would be best," she said evenly, despite how his words carved out an unexpected hollow beneath her heart.

"Well, then." Accolon tugged on his gloves and slung his bag over his shoulder. "I suppose we'll see each other in the spring."

"I suppose we will."

"Good-bye," he said. He paused for half a heartbeat as he passed her, and for that moment Morgana though he might kiss her or stop completely. But though he wavered, Accolon took a breath and kept walking. Out the door and away from her.

She stood silently, frozen in place for the better part of an hour, as though simply waiting for him would bring him back or cause the whole wretched incident to turn back on itself and never occur. But time marched on, and eventually she had to move forward, if only to blow out the guttering candles.

With the scent of smoke filling her nose, Morgana grabbed her cloak and left her chambers. She had shed no tears for him, but she couldn't deny that empty spot in her chest. Perhaps time would make it hurt less, but for the moment the cold air seemed like it might do more to ease the ache.

With her head down and the hood of her cloak up, Morgana could walk about the growing village nearly anonymously. The wind forced everyone to keep their hoods up, after all, no matter if they were stonecutters or priestesses. She passed between the makeshift homes that had popped up within the crumbling stone walls and kept going until she had topped the stairs to the southeastern tower.

The view was a gray one, full of clouds and a mist that shrouded the coast so that only the shapes of the treetops appeared, floating above the fog like the ghost of a forest. Atop the tower, the only noises were of wind and lapping water. Soothing sounds for an aching heart.

"It's lonely up here, isn't it?" A small, high voice asked from behind her.

Morgana looked back to find a girl standing by stairs. She was about twelve, with high cheekbones and fine, fair hair that blew out from under her hood. "I suppose it is," Morgana said.

The girl walked up to the wall next to Morgana and rose up to her tiptoes to look over the parapet. "I don't mind the loneliness. I means I can hear myself think for a little while. It's so noisy everywhere else."

"It is, isn't it?"

"Yes," the girl said. "Sometimes I can hear the Goddess whispering to me, but only when it's very quiet. Otherwise it's like trying to listen to a song far away when someone's talking in your ear."

"It is something like that," Morgana said, though she never heard the Goddess except in the visions that rolled through her mind like a summer storm. "What does She tell you?"

"To be good and mind my father, mostly. But sometimes, when he's not sure of where we should go or what we should do next, She tells me what steps we should take." The girl brushed her hair out of her face before tugging her sleeves down to cover her hands. "She told me that we should come here. It was a good idea. We've been happier here than most other places."

"It's certainly been peaceful, hasn't it? Away from soldiers and the like," Morgana said. "What does your mother think of it here?"

"My mother's dead," the girl said, her tone betraying no sadness or anger. Just stating a fact.

"I'm sorry. What happened to her?" Morgana asked, expecting some tale of woe about soldiers coming in the night, followed by a noose or a pyre.

"She died of a fever five winters ago. It was very quick. She didn't suffer much. That's what my father said, anyway. I'm not sure if it's true, or if he just said it to make me feel better. She's gone either way. I miss her, but sometimes I think I'm starting to forget what she looks like." The girl looked up at Morgana, her cornflower blue eyes wide and curious. "What was your mother like?"

"I'm afraid I don't really remember my mother, either," Morgana admitted. "Just that she was very beautiful."

"Mine was, too. She had the prettiest hair, and she wore it in a long braid down her back," the girl said. "I wish she was still here. She used to teach me things. About herbs and flowers, mostly, but when we were alone she would teach me about the old ways. But I suppose I have a new teacher now that you're here, Lady Morgana."

A chill ran down Morgana's spine. "How do you know who I am?"

"The Goddess told me. She told me that my father and I should come here, and that you would keep us safe and teach me about magic and the old ways." The girl looked up at her. "You will teach me, won't you? Please say you will."

"I- I've never taught anyone before. I'm afraid I wouldn't know what to do." It wasn't a very good answer, but it was the only one that Morgana had to give. A lie would have sent the girl away, but there was something about her that begged for the truth.

"Begin at the beginning," the girl said. "I'm sure the Goddess will tell you if you ask. All you have to do is find a quiet place and say the words. She'll have to tell you, or why am I here?"

"The Goddess does nothing by our command," Morgana said as if by rote, "it is we who follow Her orders."

The girl looked down at her feet, chastened. "I suppose that is my first lesson, then."

"It may be," Morgana whispered. She looked out over the waters and beyond that to the ghostly forest, listening to the wind as though the Goddess would whisper in her ear or reveal Her plans with a song on the air. But the skies remained gloomy, and there were no words on the wind, nor any other change to mark the Goddess's passage.

Except it started to rain.

"We should go inside where it's warm," Morgana said. She took one of the girls bare hands in one of her gloved ones. "I may not be able to teach you, but there's a fire, and some books to pass the time. What is your name?"

"Yvaine."

"That's a lovely name, Yvaine." Morgana cast a last glance over the parapet, and then down to the courtyard below where a few dozen cooking fires fought a losing battle against the mist and the gloom. It was a pathetic little realm she ruled over, and yet it was everything that she had managed to both win and keep since her exile from Camelot. It was hers, and she didn't want to give it up.

But what would it mean if she abandoned the oath she had sworn so long ago, to not rest until she had claimed the throne of Camelot for the Goddess?

"I think you'll be a very good teacher, even if you're not sure where to start," Yvaine said. She leaned against Morgana as they started down the steps, borrowing the priestess's warmth even as she loaned Morgana some of her own. "I'm glad you decided not to go with him. It's not so frightening when you're here. It's nice to feel like we're somewhere safe at last."

A smile warred with tears on Morgana's face as she opened the door to the hallway leading to her chambers. "It is nice, isn't it? And I suppose that, if the Goddess said I am to instruct you, then that is what I will do. It will be a new beginning for both of us."

A/N: And another story has reached its end. Thank you for taking the time to read, and especially for favoriting, following, and commenting. I always appreciate it! It will be a while before the next story comes out, as I have a few other projects I'm working on right now. Keep an eye out for 'Four and Twenty Blackbirds'.